


As the Stars Have Decreed

by jonsasnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Jealous Jon, Season 7 Spoilers, Tumblr Prompts, dickon being adorable, minor minor minor moment of dicksa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 06:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11846196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/pseuds/jonsasnow
Summary: In the aftermath of Daenerys’ siege on the Lannister army, Winterfell offered the Tarly's sanctuary while Daenerys and Cersei waged their war, but Jon had never anticipated, never fathomed that in doing so he would have to watch as Dickon Tarly made eyes at Sansa. It burned the blood in his veins.





	As the Stars Have Decreed

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi :) 
> 
> some minor dicksa and some major jonsa for you <3 
> 
> hope you like it!

The air was still, quiet, a stark difference from the storm that had raged through the night. Jon hadn’t been back longer than a sennight and yet he could already feel the calmness of Winterfell weaving through his skin and settling into his bones. It was a few days till he would have to leave for the Wall, but sunrise after sunrise, Jon found the necessity of war to fall idly on his mind, his desire to stay here more pressing than ever. It wasn’t simply the calm, the serenity that blanketed over him, but something more unbidden and confusing. 

In the aftermath of Daenerys’ siege on the Lannister army, many of the men burnt by her dragons had somehow escaped into the river, floating down until they were found by travelers. One of them happened to be Dickon Tarly, and when news came of Randyll’s execution, Sam had written to Jon to take his family in, pleading that they weren’t safe in the Reach. There hadn’t been a question in his mind. Winterfell would house the Tarly’s and offer them sanctuary while Daenerys and Cersei waged their war, but Jon had never anticipated, never fathomed that in doing so he would be placing Sansa at risk.

No, he begrudgingly admitted, she was in no danger, but the way Dickon looked at her, like she was the sun rising after the Long Night, Jon loathed it. Sansa had been through so much, endured so much at the hands of men, and he would be remiss to let her fall prey to another, even if Dickon appeared as honourable as his brother. It didn’t matter. When it came to Sansa, nothing mattered more than her safety. 

“Lord Dickon,” Sansa greeted as she stopped just at the bottom of the staircase. Jon was supposed to be training the younger soldiers, but he paused, sword held tightly in his hand, as he watched Dickon stride up to her. 

“My lady,” Dickon bowed his head, and when he lifted it back, there was a bright, _fond_  smile on his face. “I pray that you are well this morning?” 

“I’m perfectly well, ser,” she answered, returning his smile with one of her own, and gods, it even looked genuine. Sansa inclined her head and tentatively touched Dickon’s wrapped arm being held up by a sling. “Are _you_  well? Are your injuries healing? I can send for the maester if it’s troubling you still, my lord.” 

Dickon laughed. “I am as well as I can be, my lady. And I must say it is entirely in thanks to you.”

“I have done nothing, Lord Dickon,” Sansa said, ducking her head, pink tingeing her cheeks. Jon prayed it was from the cold, but there was no wind today, no nipping frost to prey on exposed skin. 

“Forgive me, but that’s simply untrue,” Dickon said earnestly. He reached for Sansa’s hand and held it in his. “You cared for me when I thought I was on the brink of death. My mother calls you, my Winter Angel.” 

Jon threw his sword down to the ground with a loud clatter and walked towards them, body and mind warring with one another as one felt ready for war and the other warned of disastrous repercussions if he were to act on that hostility. Sansa caught his eye instantly, so always attuned to him in a way that made his heart race, and a pretty frown settled on her lips. 

“Jon,” she murmured, just as Dickon turned around. 

“Your grace,” he bowed. “I hope the preparations for the war is going well.”

Jon resisted the urge to growl in response and nodded curtly. “It’s going fine, Lord Dickon.” But he wasn’t looking at Dickon, he had eyes for only one and she was staring right back, concern, confusion and irritation flashing through those summer blue eyes. “Sansa, I need…” But he hadn’t an idea what he needed or why he was standing here before them, and so the words trailed off, empty and unfinished.

“You need?” Sansa prompted, continuing to watch him carefully. “Jon, are you well?” She stepped forward, past Dickon, and laid both of her hands over his forearm. Almost immediately, his body relaxed, the tension easing away under her touch, like a winter rose blooming for the first time. He caught one hand with his other. 

“I need to…” He was aware of Dickon watching them curiously, but he didn’t care. He needed Sansa to come with him, anywhere, away from everyone, just so it was just them two again, like how it used to be before all of this. “Can we speak in private? I need to discuss urgent business with you.”

“Oh,” Sansa said, surprised colouring her face. She then nodded and turned towards Dickon. “Well, I hope you have a fast recovery, Lord Dickon. Good day.” 

Dickon smiled, bright and clear. Gods, Jon hated him. 

“Yes, my lady. Good day to you both.” 

He watched the taller man walk away, waited until he disappeared back into the castle, before looking back at Sansa, who had a knowing smile on her face.

“He is not a bad man,” she said gently. “He is a good and honourable lord with a kind heart.” 

“He fought for the Lannisters,” Jon immediately countered moodily, his brows furrowing in annoyance.

“And yet you pardoned him and offered his family sanctuary,” Sansa replied just as haughtily. “I could find a worse match.”

“ _Match_?” Jon repeated, his anger growing now. “And when did we start speaking of matches, Sansa?” 

She rolled her eyes and tore her hands from his, before walking away. “I am a trueborn daughter of House Stark, am I not? And he, a trueborn son of House Tarly? It would be a good political match.” 

“And would you live in the Reach?” Jon demanded, grabbing her wrist and turning her back around. “Would you truly leave Winterfell?” He paused, breathing heavily. “Leave _me?”_

Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed tightly. “You have no right to judge me for thinking of matches when you are out there making your own!” 

“What are you talking about!” Jon shouted, causing the men on the yard to turn and stare at them. He growled under his breath and tugged Sansa along until they were hidden in an alcove at the far end of the courtyard. “What match am I making?” 

“Lord Davos said that you were showing great interest in the Dragon Queen,” Sansa answered coldly, eyes challenging him to contradict her. 

Jon shook his head, too shocked to find the right response. “I have no interest in Daenerys. How can I be interested in another woman when all I can ever think about is…” Jon stopped, startled by his own admission as shame coloured his cheeks. “Forget it. It’s nothing. I have more important matters to attend to. Go back to your Lord Dickon.” 

He made to leave but Sansa held him back this time. “Finish your sentence, Jon.” 

“Sansa,” he warned. “Let me go.” 

“Finish your sentence,” she repeated angrily. “You cannot yell at me then not explain to me why. That’s not fair!” 

Jon growled, fighting a losing battle, as he twisted their hands so he could grip her instead. He crowded her back up against the wall and leaned in close. “How can I be interested in another woman when all I can ever think about is _you_?” he whispered, his breath fanning across her skin. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That you have me this twisted up inside? That I can hardly go a day without thinking about you, desperate to just be near you? Do you know how I loathe myself for having these thoughts?” He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, as he continued to stare at her.

For the longest second of his life, Sansa said nothing, did nothing, but stare back, and then slowly, her hands ran up his chest. “Then let us be twisted together,” she murmured, as her hands curled around his neck and pulled him to her, kissing him lightly. “Because you are all I think about as well, Jon Snow,” she said against his lips. 

Jon sighed into her, holding onto her hips as he continued to kiss her as lovingly, desperately and wantonly as he could, while knowing that there was now a new reason why he didn’t want to leave Winterfell. How could he now that he knew what she tasted like? 

Gods save him. 


End file.
